Torchwood FanFlashwork Collection
by Charity Angel
Summary: Collection of stories written for the Fan Flashworks comm on LJ/DW. May contain various pairings, styles etc.
1. Reason to Listen to Ianto 87 (J&I)

_Written for Challenge #97 - Sweet &amp; Sour_

* * *

**Reason to Listen to Ianto #87**

"What the…?!"

Jack watched indignantly as his dinner disappeared into the rafters.

Ianto just raised an eyebrow, his expression as impassive as ever but his eyes twinkled with laughter.

"Maybe you'll listen to me next time?" he suggested. "Don't eat Chinese in the Hub. Myfanwy likes sweet and sour sauce."


	2. Bending the Rules (Janto)

_Written for Challenge #103: Contraband. (Jack/Ianto fluff)_

* * *

**Bending the Rules**

Ianto didn't remove alien tech from the Hub. He might have purloined it for illegitimate use within the Hub itself, but actually removing it would be against the rules. The fifty-fourth century mood enhancers had 'Made on Earth' stamped proudly on the underside, so they were definitely fair game. And it had been a particularly shitty week – month, really – and Jack needed to relax.

So Ianto purloined the definitely non-alien tech and set the transmitters up around the flat, turned them on and called Jack, tempting him over with the promise of curry from the good Indian near his flat, the one that Jack really liked, and West Side Story on DVD.

The curry arrived at the same time Jack did, and the tantalising smells coming from the bag put a tiny smile on Jack's face before he even entered the field of the enhancers. He even gave the delivery boy a good tip.

Ianto got Jack settled in front of the TV with a big pile of his favourite lamb rogan josh, and watched as he unwound. By the second disc, Jack was cheerfully singing along with the songs. A good plan well executed, and no rules broken. Technically.


	3. Dodecapus (Ianto & Owen)

_A/N: Written for Challenge #106: Sea Life_

* * *

Owen blinked in disbelief at the rift's latest 'gift' to them, his eyes round.

"Wha- what are we supposed to do with that?"

"There's a nice big tank in the third basement that should do nicely for now," Ianto said without hesitation. "And shellfish aren't exactly hard to buy at the market. Assuming that's what it eats."

The 'dodecapus' flailed mournfully at them, and Owen jumped back from the besuckered tentacles. Ianto reached out curiously and stroked the very tip of one. The creature made a clicking sound that could have almost been mistaken for a purr.

"That's right," Ianto said soothingly. "We'll take you home and get you into a nice tank. Being out here can't be comfortable for you."

Some of the tentacles waved as if in agreement, and drifted towards Ianto, who moved as if to pick up the clumsy body of the creature. He looked to Owen for help.

"I've mentioned my octopus thing, right?" Owen said, eyeing the tentacles from a safe distance. "Creepy fucking things: far too many legs and suckers. And that's got a whole lot more."

Ianto glared at him. "If you don't man up and help, I'll have to call the girls instead. And tell them why." He hesitated for a moment before adding: "Or I could call Jack, and he can tell you about how much fun tentacled aliens are in bed. Gleefully."

"You're a rotten bastard, Ianto Jones."

"I try my best," Ianto replied sweetly, still stroking the dodecapus.


	4. Holding a Grudge (Jack & Rex)

_Written for Challenge #108: Fast Forward_

* * *

"Jeez, Rex. Still?"

Normally, Jack had absolutely no issue with lying on his back, looking up at a hot guy. But normally Jack wasn't massaging his jaw. But every few decades, he ran into Rex Matheson, and ended up with a fist in his face.

The universe was enormous, and yet they just kept on running into each other. It was like the universe enjoyed bringing them together; it was like they were two poles of a magnet, always attracted to each other even though they couldn't stand each other.

Rex couldn't stand him, anyway. Rex still, after centuries, blamed Jack for his immortality. Yeah, sure, it was Jack's blood that had somehow turned him, but Jack hadn't exactly forced it into his veins. Or even really known what was going on when Esther had taken it from him in the first place. Jack had been kind of busy being delirious and on the brink of death at the time.

Jack climbed gingerly to his feet, just outside Rex's reach.

"So, can I buy you a drink?"

"Fuck that, World War Two," Rex said, glaring at Jack. "I can buy my own damn drink."

Jack grinned and led Rex to the nearest bar. "One of these centuries."

"In your dreams."

Jack just grinned. He never could resist taunting Rex: he knew Rex was one of those freaks who only liked women, but the teasing, like the punching, was just part of how they interacted these days. They had seen too much change not to cling to the little things that made up their relationship. And, Jack thought as they settled down with their drinks, he would never have wished his curse on anyone, but there was a part of him that was still glad he wasn't alone in the universe any more. Even if his companion had to be Rex Matheson, the man who could literally hold a grudge for a lifetime and beyond.


	5. Mystery

_Written for challenge #108: Fast Forward_

* * *

It happened every few years: a piece of red ribbon would be found tied to the fence outside the Torchwood Museum at Mermaid Quay, Cardiff. There seemed to be no pattern to the years it happened – sometimes there would be a few years in a row and sometimes it might be a decade or more – but when it was found, it was always on the morning of August twentieth.

The ribbons had changed over the years, starting out as satin or silk, and had gone through various alien fabrics, but seemed to have settled on the virtually indestructible Ataxian silk about a hundred years ago.

They were a bit of a local legend around Cardiff, and after the first few, they were left alone. Of course, they rotted away eventually, one by one, but it never deterred the mysterious ribbon donor.

Sometimes someone would claim to have seen a good-looking, broad-shouldered man of around six feet in height, with light brown hair. But those rumours had been going around for centuries, and that description could fit a lot of people. However hard they tried, the staff at the museum could never get a good image of the perpetrator on any recording device.

The significance of the date had never been lost on the staff at the museum – it was the day after Ianto Jones' birthday – but they had never been able to explain it beyond that. No-one seemed to mark the birthdays of Gwen Cooper, Owen Harper, Toshiko Sato, Rex Matheson or Esther Drummond the same way (and, of course, there was no record of Captain Jack Harkness' date of birth). Some of the romantics spun the wild theory that maybe Captain Jack had been immortal after all, and it was him, marking his husband's birthday, but the realists pointed out that it was ridiculous to think that anyone could have lived the thousands of years since Torchwood had been founded. It was simply impossible.

The ribbons remained a mystery. And they kept on appearing.


	6. Memory (Jack)

_Written for challenge #108: Fast Forward. A companion to Mystery._

* * *

The city itself was completely unrecognisable these days, but the bay had been preserved. It was a monument these days, to the early days of the Institute that had been born beneath it.

Jack knew that wasn't entirely true, but the exact details escaped him. A few thousand years' worth of memories had pushed out some extraneous details about the original founding of Torchwood, but history didn't care about the first century or so either: they cared about what had happened in Cardiff; they cared about the tiny team of people who had protected the citizens of Earth without them even knowing about it. Elementary school children throughout the Human Empire learned the names of the seven humans who had been the trailblazers for good extra-terrestrial relations, for dealing with the oddities of the universe around them in a sensible manner, for the good of not only humanity, but their neighbours too.

Every schoolchild knew the name Ianto Jones. They all knew how brave he had been, and how he had died in his husband's arms. Jack couldn't be bothered to correct that inaccuracy any more: even if he had been brave enough to ask, Ianto had died almost five years before they would have been able to exchange actual marriage vows. It wasn't important any more.

Too many years had passed since the day Ianto had been snatched from him: so many years that Jack actually couldn't remember what year it was any more, and nor did he care very much about not being able to remember. But he could remember the date. It was the only date that held any meaning for him.

He turned his back on the Torchwood Memorial, which had been built where the water tower had once stood; he turned away from the museum and stood facing out to sea with the wind in his face, taking away the summer heat that had never felt all that hot to Jack anyway. But Ianto had loved it: he was a Welsh lad through and through; never experienced the baking heat of a desert, or of Jack's home world. The last time they had stood together on this day, it had been like this and Ianto had been so very happy; his eyes had shone brightly and he had smiled the whole time. And that night, they had made love under the stars in Ianto's poky little garden.

Jack stayed for hours, lost in his precious memories. But eventually he gave a sigh and reached into his pocket. Withdrawing a length of red ribbon, he tied it around the fence surrounding the bay.

"I kept my promise, Ianto," he whispered into the gathering darkness. "I never forgot you. Happy birthday, wherever you are."


	7. Mourning (Ianto)

_Written for challenge #108: Fast Forward_

* * *

Jack didn't believe there was anything after death. Even after the incident at the House of the Dead, he didn't really believe. But Ianto knew differently.

Those who left the mortal world before their soulmates waited until their partner died, and they journeyed on together to whatever came next. Until that time came, they watched over their husbands, wives and/or lovers.

Ianto had had the misfortune of finding his soulmate in Jack Harkness. Which meant he was trapped in the netherworld, unable to go backwards or forwards. After a few centuries, he had taken it upon himself to try and make the transition from the mortal coil to this place as easy for the newcomers as possible – he greeted them, explained what had happened, and what would happen when their partner(s) died too.

This didn't stop him from watching Jack. He had seen Jack go through a horribly self-destructive phase just after he had died, and seen him become moral for a brief time during the so-called 'miracle'. And he had seen Jack try to move on. And it broke Ianto's heart each time Jack left someone because he wouldn't break the promise he had made to Ianto.

But Ianto could never be too upset, really. Because every few years, he would get yanked from wherever he was, all the way back to Cardiff, and he would get to spend a few hours standing by Jack's side, looking out over the bay. And as the sun set, he would reach out and touch Jack's cheek as he tied a red ribbon around the railings. And he would cry as Jack whispered 'happy birthday' to him, wishing he could say something back, wishing he could comfort Jack.


	8. Meddling (DoctorJack, Janto)

_Written for challenge #108: Fast Forward_

* * *

The Doctor had long-since gotten over his aversion to Jack Harkness. In fact, this latest regeneration seemed to have anything _but_ an aversion to Jack Harkness. And they had patched things up between them. Rather successfully.

Jack didn't travel with him full-time. They were both old enough to want their own space occasionally, but more than that, the Doctor wasn't stupid: he knew he had taken second place in Jack's heart millennia ago, ousted by a young Welshman with a quick wit and a pert backside.

Jack would always love Ianto, and he would always go back to Cardiff for as long as it stood. The Doctor never stepped in, never got involved in this ritual. He never even let Jack know he was there. Not until the day he realised he wasn't just seeing Jack there at the railings of Mermaid Quay. The other man wasn't really there, not as per human perception, but from the way he just stood with Jack, resting his hand over Jack's, he could only be one person.

And he couldn't just stand by and watch Jack simply mourn any more. Not when he knew. He cared for Jack too much. And the Doctor knew a bit about pulling things across dimensions, and Cardiff was the perfect place to be able to do something like this.

It took until the next time – another three years – before he was ready to try. He landed the TARDIS in Roald Dahl Plass, right over the crack in the rift, and she did the rest for him. For them.

Without saying anything, he held out his hand to Jack – this regeneration wasn't particularly chatty, and they had grown beyond the need for words long ago. Jack frowned at the hand, but took it without complaint.

Together, they ventured out into the crowds on the Quay. The Doctor led Jack down towards the spot where a plethora of red ribbons decorated the railings, and he felt the moment when Jack could see what he could. He froze, and no amount of gentle tugging could get him to move. He looked stricken. Right up until the moment that Ianto realised that Jack could see him and started running towards them.

The Doctor dropped Jack's hand and took a few steps backwards, content to simply observe as his lover and _his_ lover kissed, lost in a maelstrom of longing and devotion.


	9. Becher's Blues (Ianto & Lisa)

_Written for challenge #116: Refusal_

* * *

Ianto sighed and shredded his slip into tiny little pieces.

"Ianto? What's up?"

Lisa was understandably concerned, given that Ianto wasn't exactly given to making a mess. Nor was he given to ignoring a cup of coffee that was right under his nose.

As the paper fluttered into the bin, she saw some of the colour that had designated Native Umpanship's silks.

"I take it he didn't win?" she surmised.

Ianto sighed again and swept up some errant pieces of paper. "He refused a fence."

Lisa patted his arm and hid her winning slip. "Oh well, there's always next year."


	10. Accidents in the Workplace (Ianto & Owen

_Written for Challenge #1: The Lost Hour; posted for the 19th amnesty (challenge #117)._

* * *

Ianto blinks fuzzily, trying to clear his head and work out where he is. As the room comes into focus, it becomes clear that he is lying on the sofa in the Hub, and there is the thick, bitter taste in his mouth and a pounding in his head that he associates with Retcon.

With a groan, he checks his watch: the date is right – it's still the twenty-first of April – and it doesn't seem to be much later than he expects. He's maybe lost an hour or two. They did have Retcon that mild – the shorter the time someone lost, the more easily disguised it was. Otherwise the city of Cardiff would have been asking a lot more questions by now.

But why? Why is Ianto lying on the ailing, seventies sofa with time missing from his memory? The last thing he can remember before waking up was being up in the tourist office, talking with a brash American couple about Welsh history (he would have thought that Yanks would understand the idea of a native people being oppressed by the English, but apparently not), with the start of a headache forming between his eyes.

"Oh good, you're awake."

Jack's voice is loud, abrasive, and it echoes around between Ianto's ears, exacerbating his headache. His face floats into Ianto's vision, looking concerned but slightly bemused as well.

Ianto rubs at his eyes in a futile attempt to disperse his headache, one that is getting worse as time goes on rather than better.

"What happened?" he asks, his voice thin but full of exasperation.

There is a shuffling of feet from someone outside of his field of vision. Jack turns towards the sound, a stern frown forming.

"Tell him," he instructs.

"Um…?"

It's Owen who is shuffling nervously, hovering where Ianto can't see him, that Jack is clearly unimpressed with him.

"Owen," Jack warns, a promise of things that will come if he doesn't confess. This intrigues Ianto, because Jack is fairly easy-going unless they do something really stupid. Jack isn't really mad, it's more like disappointed. So Owen has done something stupid, but probably not fatal.

Owen sighs. "Last week, when you steam-cleaned Autopsy? Some of the labels peeled off the drug bottles."

Ianto groans. He has a feeling he might know where this is going now, and if Owen is right, it's half his fault.

"I, er…" Owen continues, sounding embarrassed now. "I might have mixed up some of the drugs. The aspirin looks a lot like level one Retcon, you know. I'm… I'll get back to running the samples through the scanner now, make sure there's no more mistakes."

Ianto drops his head back onto the sofa and closes his eyes. The pounding in his head is not being helped by the bright lights in the Hub. He suspects a soft whimper escapes him.

He hears a bottle of pills rattle as they fly through the air, caught by Jack.

"Here, give him some of these," Owen says softly. "I've already okayed them – they're my hangover cure. Should sort his head out."

Owen's footsteps hurry away after that, leaving them alone. Ianto feels soft lips brush against his forehead; Jack, showing his affection in a way that the rest of the team probably wouldn't believe because of how overt he normally is.

"I'll get you some water," he whispers. "You'll feel better soon."

Ianto nods weakly and slumps back into the depths of the sofa. He knows that Jack is telling the truth, but he has been concentrating for too long already and at the moment, all he can think of is the blissful oblivion of unconsciousness.

As he swallows down the new pills and the cool, sweet water, it occurs to him that at least all he has forgotten is pain. There could have been much worse reasons for forgetting than some mixed-up labels. And Ianto is thankful it was only the level one, stealing an hour or so, rather than something much stronger, that might have robbed him of his whole life.

Still, he thinks as he drifts back off to sleep, he needs to get Owen a Sharpie.


	11. Team Free Will (UK Branch) (J&I X-over?)

_Written for challenge #132: Cheating &amp; set in the same 'verse as Improbabilities__._

* * *

"Ianto, have you ever cheated on Jack?"

Ianto eyed his phone suspiciously. Where on Earth had that question come from? Unless…

"What's your challenge this week?"

There was a short and very suspicious silence before the answer came.

"Cheating," she said slowly, hesitantly, and he could very well imagine her cringing at the other end of the line.

"Charity, aren't you cheating just by asking me that? You're supposed to come up with these ideas for us, not ask us outright."

There was the tiniest snort of laughter. "Probably. But I don't want to push anyone into anything like that. It doesn't seem right."

"I suppose I should thank you for not writing me having a fling with Owen, or Rhys, or…"

"PC Andy?" Charity suggested with a wicked tone. "Or, I could be really evil and say Gwen…"

Ianto shuddered. "Heaven forbid. And, speaking of 'heaven', I'm sure that Sam, Dean and the angels will be grateful you didn't pick on any of them."

"Oh, damn! I could have gone about this from a Gabriel perspective, couldn't I? He cheats at just about everything."

Ianto rubbed at his temples, trying to fend off the oncoming headache. The world was getting a little too surreal these days, when he had the mobile number of one of their fanfic writers programmed into his phone, and not only did he discuss her fic with her (and chat in general), but he read her works in other fandoms and could offer comment. It was just too weird. They still couldn't properly explain how the whole thing worked, but he knew that talking to (and influencing) the writer was definitely cheating, no matter how much Jack pushed him into it. And an archangel had told him it was most definitely okay, although Ianto wasn't entirely sure that Gabriel counted. Mostly because he _did_ cheat at everything. He was like Jack with phenomenal cosmic powers, which was a terrifying thought if ever Ianto had had one.

"It's not too late," Ianto offered. "I'm sure he would oblige, even if it's just snapping his fingers to undress Sam."

She snickered. "Yeah, I'm sure he would love that. I'm not really in the mood to write porn right now, but maybe later?"

"You'd better." Ianto looked up at Jack's voice butting in. He had thought he was alone in their flat, hadn't heard Jack come home. His lover had a massive smile on his face, his eyes shining at the prospect of porn in their future, despite how little Charity seemed to be writing for Torchwood these days.

"I mean, you left me hanging for a whole year, waiting for that threesome with Helena and David back in eighteen-whatever, and now you've given up again. And Ianto's not had any whiff of anything for even longer."

It had been a while since Charity had written him any smut, it was true, but he had, in some twisted way, enjoyed reading about Jack and his ancestor. And he still wasn't sure how that worked with Jack's experiences.

"I haven't forgotten you, Jack," she said. "I just need to get my Torchwood groove back."

"Not going to happen while you're drooling over the angel, kid," Jack pointed out. "Not that I blame you: he's _gorgeous_, but still…"

"I still love you, Jack. I'll find you again, don't worry. I've got to go, guys: my Chinese is here."

"Home alone?" Jack guessed. That was the only time Charity ever had Chinese. It was certainly the only time she ever had takeaway delivered.

"Yep. They're visiting my brother. Bye."

"I know where you live," Jack threatened playfully. "Write me some porn."

She laughed. "Bye."

The line cut off, and Jack grabbed Ianto, pulling him close.

"Or maybe we should write our own?" he suggested. He had that look in his eyes that so often spelled trouble of the 'indecent exposure' and/or 'lewd behaviour' charge kind. At least this time they were safely in their flat.

"Isn't that cheating?" Ianto said. "Can we write our own stories?"

"Why the hell not?" Jack decreed, and Ianto couldn't really find fault that. Fictional, they might be, but they still had free will, didn't they?


	12. Playing Dirty (gen, whole team)

_Written for challenge #134: Dirty._

* * *

Owen would have enjoyed this, Mainframe mused as it focused its cameras on the match, recording it for a future incarnation of Ianto to pull up whenever the Icaarans next visited Earth. He probably would have enjoyed it more than Jack was doing right now.

A society who viewed clothing as untrustworthy and deceitful was Jack's kind of thing, no doubt, and that probably would have made Owen uncomfortable, but a society whose warrior women favoured a form of mud wrestling as a competitive sport was definitely something Mainframe thought Owen would have liked. Especially since Gwen had been forced to participate.

It was a shame Tosh had never finished the little maintenance drones that Mainframe could control to help Ianto keep the place clean, though, because he really did not look happy at the state of the floor around the inflatable pool that was serving as the combat arena.


End file.
